Within A Dream
by Dreams-of-Red
Summary: AU; OOC This fic started off a dreamlike account of a succession of events that happen to Ken one normal summer afternoon. But sooner or later the past catches up to you. Slight hints of shonen ai, and Schwarz-ness.
1. Dreaming

AN: This is an AU fic. Based on a dream I had, the night before it was written. Don't worry about figuring things out, I don't know if I really mean it to make sense. Its more of a imagery fic, sort of dreamlike...up for anyone's interpretation. And again, it's AU so the characters are all a bit OOC.  
  
  
  
The water was beautiful and lazy in the afternoon sun. Lines of green seaweed marked the stages of the tide, scattered with an occasional discarded cup or wrapper. The beach was small, and not alltogether stunning, but he loved it here, in the warm sand.   
  
Ken was sitting on the edge of a shadow, cast by a low wall on his right, and gazing out at the water. People were scattered here on this beach, laughing, talking, running into the water. He had always come here when he had something on his mind. Today it was nothing special, but perhaps that was part of the problem. Bills waited for him on the table of his small apartment. It was empty when he wasn't there, empty and silent.  
  
He sighed, and tried to forget how lonely he had felt recently. Behind him, someone laughed. He glanced over. Thats when he first saw him. Dressed in a casual suit despite the warmth, a pair of sunglasses on, and wild orange hair. His hands were in his pockets and he seemed to be laughing at Ken.   
  
"What?"  
  
He stopped laughing, and took off his sunglasses, his green eyes sparkling. Ken was captivated by his movements, so smooth and in control. Then he offered him a hand up, without offering an explination. He hesitated, and then stood up himself. The other man shrugged, and placed his hands back in his pockets.  
  
"So..."  
  
Ken frowned slightly.  
  
"You're the one, eh?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Ken was suddenly slightly unnerved by him. The man was giving him a sense of danger.   
  
"Ah, I don't know what Brad was thinking. You seem too naieve to me. Come on, I'll explain when we get there."  
  
He started walking, and Ken found himself following the confident stranger, through the winding back streets of the city. He was humming something Ken thought he remembered from somewhere, a tune that just caught on the edges of his memory, but never truly rang true. It was annoying.  
  
Eventually the two men reached a car, parked in a deserted cross street. Ken thought it was a bit strange that it was parked in the middle of the street. The setting remained ominous despite the bright sunlight that washed everything in yellow. Perhaps the llight only served to make things worse. A crack in a brick facade of a building caught his attention. He was trying to decide whether or not it had been painted on when the sound of car doors opening caught his attention.  
  
It was a black van. The windows were tinted, and for a good reason. Dark blue curtains were pulled back to display a assortment of weapons. Guns, knives, grenades, and bullet-proof vests. The man sat on the edge of the back of the car, and looked at Ken.  
  
"What?! Who are you?"  
  
Ken started to back away.  
  
"My proffesional name is Schuldig. Thats all you need to know me by."  
  
Ken stopped.  
  
"So why the guns? And how do you know me? Why did you bring me here?"  
  
"Hidaka Ken. You've been chosen by my partner. Ah, but there are secrets you can't know."  
  
"Does this have to do with..."  
  
"That? Oh no. Your past isn't even an issue, Ken-chan."  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
"Tsk..."  
  
He pulled out a handgun, Ken didn't catch from where, and pointed it at him, rather lazily.  
  
"You going to cooperate?"  
  
Ken didn't say anything.  
  
"You know, if you don't, I'll do worse then shoot you. I don't mean that as a threat, but..."  
  
The brown haired man frowned again.  
  
"Let's just say things work as planned either way."  
  
"Fine, it doesn't seem I have a choice, does it."  
  
"Good kitten."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind. Just an inside joke."  
  
He pulled out a vest, and tossed it to Ken. After he stood there for a minute with a blank look to Schuldig, the man retorted with a slightly impatient command to put it on. He did that, and then accepted a few guns, a 8 inch hunting blade, and a grenade. Quentions pushed at his mind, but something distrcted him whenever one struggled to the surface. Somehow this all seemed very dream-like. He was dressed inconspiciously enough, in plain brown slacks and a white shirt. Schuldig was resisting having him dress in the classic black suit he had brought for him. But he was pushing his will already. He didn't want to go over the edge and have to use mind control.   
  
The two got into the van, Schuldig was driving. Ken looked out the window as they drove, out of the bad section of town and into a busier section. Luck wasn't on their side, it seemed, and they got stopped at perhaps seven red lights. Ken didn't mind, he liked just watching people. He often wondered where they were going. Some walked in a hurry, some were stolling, and some were just waiting. He liked to think he was one of those last kind, waiting. Just standing still as the world ran by, everyone going somewhere. What was he waiting for? Maybe things had been different before the war.  
  
Maybe a half an hour later, they stopped. It was a store, one of a pretty large chain. Ken shopped there himself often..groceries or socks. They drove into the parking lot, and ken noticed offhand that there were a lot of black cars parked next to each other, near the back of the parking lot. They parked the van on the other side. As they got out of the van, Schuldig started talking. He was only half listening, though, as they walked towards the enterance. The orange-haired man pulled out a handgun.  
  
"Did you get all that now? Make sure you stay out of the way, and listen closely. Don't shoot anyone unless I tell you to, or they're shooting at you. Civilians don't matter, so don't hesitate, if you have to, ja?"  
  
"Sure, sure.."  
  
The guns were heavy in their holsters, and Ken felt slightly light-headed. What exactly was he doing again? Walking into a store with a cool orange-haired stranger, carrying guns, and with no real idea of what he was getting himself into. Oh well. Somehow the panic was just being held back in his mind, as if there was a second presence directing his thoughts.   
  
A gunshot. Schuldig was standing on a checkout counter, having just shot a cashier. He smirked down at Ken.  
  
"And so it starts."  
  
Men, dressed in black and sunnglasses, suddenly came running and them. He jumped down, and lunged at Ken, rolling with him behind another checkout isle. His eyes locked onto that of the girl Schuldig had just killed. She was pretty, blonde. Maybe 20. He was standing up now. He held up a hand, and suddenly the gunfire ceased. He fired his won handgun in rapid succession. Once, twice, three times, eight times. Then he stopped, and holstered it. Ken stood, and looked over the counter. It seemed like blood was everywhere. Splattered across the white floors, dripping off the magazines lined up neatly in the impulse-item section.   
  
Then someone clapped. Slowly, almost tauntingly. And a dark-haired man stepped from behind an isle. He stopped clapping, and smiled at Schuldig.   
  
"Nice work."   
  
"Like always, Brad."  
  
He looked over at Ken.  
  
"So you found him."  
  
Ken could only stare at him. Brad. Brad... So familiar. He definetly knew him from somewhere. Something, again, held down the question, but this time he had to ask.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Brad turned back around. He had been walking away when Ken won the battle with his invisible oppressor.  
  
"Do I...Do I know you?"  
  
Brad smiled.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
He turned, again, and walked away.  
  
* * *  
  
  
It was evening. The sun had just sank below the horizon, and Ken and Schuldig had been driving for a while. They had talked about all kinds of things, including Ken's life. Schuldig seemed to know things about him. Before he even spoke them they were inferenced. Schuldig also knew a lot of things Ken didn't. He was smugly secretive, and didn't speak a word about himself. When the conversation turned that way, he would just talk himself out of it so smoothly Ken never noticed until he remembered that he never got an ansswer to the proposed question.   
  
Eventually they stopped, in front of a very nice house. It was two stories, and huge. The driveway was a large semi-circle and planted with beautiful shrubs. The house itself was lit well, and for no apparent reason white lights were stung up across the balconies, and up the front pillars. It was nesled into forest, whcih was typical for this section of the the country...they had driven far away from the cities.   
  
Inisde was insanely lavish, and Ken was led into a long hallway, whose ceiling broke into the second floor. Huge red draperies in velvet hung from the ceiling to the floor, against black walls. They were the color of blood. They might have stood there for about a minute when the door opened. A crack of light in the dimly lit room, and the man from the store walked in, carrying a smallish black velvet box. He walked up to Ken, and gave Schuldig a look. He smirked and retreated the way they had come, leaving the two alone. It was quiet.  
  
Brad walked closer to Ken, reached out and cupped a hand under his chin, tilting his chin up.  
  
"You're just as beautiful as I remember you, Ken."  
  
"W-what? I can't seem to remember you..Brad."  
  
He smiled. The brown haired man was years older then when he had first seen him, but he still seemed so young. It was just something about him.  
  
"You're wondering what all of this is about. Ah, I guess I'll tell you. I knew you from the war, but you won't remember that, you don't remember much of anything, do you?"   
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Ah, you wouldn't. But maybe you remember the graveyard...?"  
  
Ken shook his head again, but paused as an imaged fleeted his thoughts. Sitting crosslegged on the dewy grass, amid thousands of thousands of candles. Melting wax all over white stone grave markers, stretching out. Conversation in hushed tones. Promises?  
  
"I told you we would pay back the government for what they did to us. To all of us. To our friends who died, lying in the empty graves that those gravestones mark."  
  
Slowly, Ken nodded.   
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Are you remembering? This is the key."  
  
He opened the box. Inside was a beautiful, pure strand of round, white pearls. They were almost glowing with milky translucence. He picked them up out of this box and placed the box on the ground. Then he fastened them around Ken's neck.  
  
"Take care of them for me. You don't mind the danger, do you"  
  
"No. It's fine, no one needs to know."  
  
Ken put his hands in the pockets of the loose green sweater he had changed into. He looked down a little and blushed.   
  
"Our secret. But...speaking of secrets..."  
  
Ken looked back at him.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"How are things between us, Ken?"  
  
"I guess that depends, Brad. Who is Schuldig?"  
  
"Tsk. That's an accusation, Kitten."  
  
Kitten...  
  
"Maybe. So who is he to you?"  
  
"Just my partner in crime. There's nothing between us."  
  
"So you're..."  
  
"Single? No. There's a woman. You should meet her."  
  
Ken blinked. He hadn't expected that.   
  
"It's not too serious Ken. I think she would like you.."  
  
"Oh.."  
  
Brad led him out the door he himself had come in. It opened out to a lush lawn, the grass gleaming silver in the moonlight, like glass. Behind this there was a lake. A floating dock of sorts was chained to posts on the shore. She was sitting on this, on a plastic white lawn chair. She turned to look at Ken as they approached. They did not walk onto the platform.  
  
She was beautiful. In a way that defied every standard of the word. Describing her wouldn't do her justice. It wasn't flawless beauty, it was the presence of her flaws, almost, that made her beautiful, that made you unable to turn away, only stare. She was pale, with scars running all across her skin, where it showed. Her arms were bound with white bandages that almost glowed in the moonlight, and she wore a long black sleeveless dress. One of her eyes was covered with a startling black eyepatch, and the other was a golden amber, and trained on Ken with something that vaugely resembled lust. It made him shiver. It also made him want to walk towards her.   
  
Schuldig was sitting on the edge of the platform, cross legged, staring into the water, seemingly in thought.   
  
"I've told her about you. She has a lot to say, though she seldom talks."  
  
"Ah.."  
  
Ken found himself walking towards her. He didn't know what he was doing, but some force pulled him towards her.  
  
"Hi.."  
  
She just looked at him.  
  
"Um.."  
  
"You have pretty eyes."  
  
He blinked.  
  
"Really?"  
  
She just nodded, then stood, in a fluid motion. Then, too quick for him to see, she stepped forward, whipped out a knife an cut a shallow cut across his cheekbone. Then the knife was gone again. She smiled.   
  
"May I have them?"  
  
Ken was suddenly nervous.   
  
"N-no...I kind of need them.."  
  
"What, are you too attached to the light?"  
  
He nodded a little.  
  
"Oh well. Tell me when you change your mind."  
  
When you change your mind. Not if you change your mind. It gave him a chill, the confidence with which she spoke those words. All of a sudden the lights went out in the house. Moonlight was the only thing illuminating the landscape. And then the moon, too, passed under a cloud. Suddenly two gunshots rang out.   
  
Ken started running. He tripped over something, but got back up again. He just ran. He didn't want to know who had just died. Maybe he didn't care. But he did know that he was somewhere he should have never let himself be. Whatever had been blurring his mind suddenly cleared, and he saw the events of the past day clearly. What the hell had he been doing? He ran until he got to the highway, and flagged down a car.  
  
He got back to his apartment, still shaky, and turned on all the lights, from room to room. It was past midnight, and the rest of the city was dark. But Ken's little apartment was glowing with light as he wrapped a blanket around himself, perched on the couch in front of a blue TV screen. Over, it's over. In fact, it was all a dream, he had fallen asleep here on the couch. Thats what he had finally convinced himself of, when the TV suddenly died. The screen went black, and then the lights flickered off.  
  
"Wake up. It's only beginning, Ken."  
  
His eyes widened slightly. That voice... His hands when to his throat, where the string of pearls still lay, cool against his skin.  
  
"Brad?"  
  
"Shh, don't tell the secret."  
  
"Oh, all right."   
  
* * * 


	2. Awake

AN: Well then. This is the clarity you all have been waiting for. Well, I really only had one reviewer, so maybe you all weren't ;; In any case, the whole fic had been grounded and somewhat explained. Have fun ^.^ Oh, and Ms Jadey, I changed my mind about not including Weiss ^_^  
  
  
Awake.  
  
It was morning. The sound of the birds outside on the street woke him. He gazed at the sunlight, slanting across the floor and the wall across from him in stripes from the verticles on his window. His walls had been painted with a light olive strip along the bottom, and his foggy eyes rested on a chip of olive paint. After a moment a thought came to him. Vivdly, the image of a tall dark-haired man, standing in the darkness, only slightly touched by the faint illumination that came from the open window. Brad. He was here last night? It was about the only thing that seemed real to him about yesterdays events.  
  
"Brad?"  
  
He stood, still dressed in the clothing he was wearing yesterday, and listened for an answer. There was none. He checked the wall clock, which lie directly above his television set. The slender black hands read 8:23. He needed a shower desperately, so he headed for the bathroom, stripping off his sweatshirt, then the shirt beneath it, his pants and boxers. He left the strand of pearls around his neck, since he wasn't awake enough to undo the complicated clasp. He stepped into the shower, the tile was cold, and he shivered, turning the hot water on. Ken always liked hot showers.   
  
He was lost in thought, letting the water pour down on his head and shoulders, and staring at a particular pattern of blue tiles on the wall when he heard the noise. It was a door closing, and his head snapped in that direction, turning off the water, and listening. He didn't hear anything. He suddenly resented his carpet. It was hid footsteps too well. He stepped out of the shower, slipping on his sweatshirt and tying the towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He poked his head out the door and scanned the room. Nothing. So he walked into the kitchen. His brown eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"Good morning."  
  
Brad was sitting at his small kitchen table, with a mug of coffee.   
  
"Y-you..um.."   
  
Brad smiled, composed as ever.   
  
"I apologize for not warning you that was going to stay the night."  
  
Ken just looked at him for a while, then realized that he was in a towel and a sweatshirt, and blushed lightly.  
  
"Ah.."  
  
After another moment, he turned and walked back into his room, trying not to break into a run and prove his embarrasment. He closed the door behind him. Crawford smirked lightly. Ken leaned on the door to his modestly furnished, disheveled room. Brad was in his apartment. After a moment he decided to get dressed first, and then think about what he was going to do or say. He took the sweatshirt off again, and threw it across his perfectly made bed. Wait.. He looked at the bed again. He never really bothered to make it so evenly, the sheets were all tucked into the matteress precisely, and the nondescript black-and-grey comforter smoothed out without a wrinkle. He must have slept there last night. Ken tensed, and forced himself not to think about it as he put on some loose pants, and a new T-shirt, tying the orange sweater around his waist.  
  
He cautiously approached the kitchen. Brad had finished his coffee and looked up as he walked in. He was the image of casual elegance, in a very expensive-looking buisness suit, and managing to make it seem like nothing. His presence was enough to draw one's attention from the clothes he was wearing, no matter what that might be. Ken blushed as he realized he had been staring and quickly looked away.  
  
"It's...been a while."  
  
"Only since yesterday."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
Brad just nodded and Ken slid into the chair across from him, settling into the plastic-encased cushion, far from real comfort. The kitchen was modest, and dimly lit, the sunlight just providing enough illumination from the other room (since there were no windows) to avoid turning on a light. All of a sudden Ken felt the dimness as a threat, and stood, to pull the little chain of a ceiling-fan, swtiching on the light in it's center, and sending the blades spinning slowly, stirring the air. He sat back down.  
  
"I want to apologize."  
  
"Don't worry, kitten, I knew it was too much to ask from you."  
  
"But you..."  
  
He stuggled to find the words.  
  
"I mean, you were there with me. It wasn't any easier on you, and you were able to recover. It was probably even harder....Since they used you and all."  
  
This seemed to touch an old wound in Brad, and the pain flickered through his dark eyes for a moment, then was buried again, beneath his facade of composure.   
  
"It's all right. I managed on my own, the important thing was that I was able to find you again."  
  
Ken nodded slowly. Suddenly the sense of safety he had gotten from the warm light seemed to ebb away, like bathwater that had sat too long on a cold day. Not immediate, but the feeling was there, in his gut, that he had started on another down spiral. All those years of convincing himself of lies, of getting over the shock of death all around him. He had finally convinced himself it was all a dream, and now this. Now the dream had escaped back into reality, and was pulling him back into it, his other reality.  
  
It had all started 7 years ago. Ken was 21, young, and naieve. He was patriotic. He was on his way to the National Soccer League. But that wasn't to be his future it seems. Japan declared a civil war, dividing itself politically. Two prominent leaders had risen to power, one was Takatori Reji, and the other known only as "Persia" in his political circles. The two constantly had bloody clashes in the streets, and the police force was about split down the middle, so that didn't help at all.  
  
Japan took sides. Thousands of families were forced to relocate, as the battle lines were drawn. Shelters were hasitly put together for those with no place to go. Massacres rose on the streets between activists. Military support was building behind each party, a network of secrets, threats, rumors. Ken was caught up in it all, in way over his head. He supported Takatori, and when it was time to enlist he did. He was a little brash, and was living out of a tiny space he had managed to rent almost just over the divide, where most of the clashes were erupting. He barely scraped together a decent living from the suppliment given to recruits who found their own housing near the base. The war hadn't started yet, so he imagined he would be forced to move into army quarters soon enough.   
  
He was pulled out of his reverie with a question.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"What are you thinking about, Ken?"  
  
He looked down at his hands, resting palms-down on the slightly-scuffed table.   
  
"The past. Things I thought I had forgotten.."  
  
Brad nodded.  
  
~*~ (flashback)  
  
A low-celinged, vast, rectangular room. The young man looked around, feeling strangely out of place. Eyes were on him, from everywhere. Some families had built up partitions with sheets, and had managed to find, or buy used scraps of funrature, the occasional mattress, and heaps of the standard-issue blue-grey blankets. They seemed to give the whole place an air of dismalness, even through the japaneese flags plastering the walls, which were also a shade of grey. It was early evening. The young man in question had just come back to his apartment complex to find it leveled in a heap of broken concrete and twisted metal supports. They had started bombing. It was just rouge terrorists, but it would start in earnest soon.   
  
He walked through the long corridor-like building, a paper in his hand with a 5-digit number printed neatly in its center, with his name above it. He looked for the number, and was amazed at how many more spaces were filled. He voulenteered here in his spare time, handing out food and doing other tasks that needed to be done. There it was, 3416, in stenciled white on the grey wall. Beneath it someone had stuck a little flag decal, which stood out on the wall, sadly hopeful. He looked down, and to his suprise, there was another man sitting there, his back leaned against the wall. He wasn't looking at the first young man, seeming to be caught up in his own thoughts. He had short black hair and glasses, dressed in casual clothing; a button-down black shirt and off-white slacks.   
  
The younger brunette cleared his throat a little, and was graced by a look from the other man.   
  
"Anou..do I have the wrong number?"  
  
There was a pause that seemed to stretch out between the two, in which they regarded each other in silence, one studying the other, and one waiting for an answer to his quesiton.  
  
"No. I just had a feeling you would be here."  
  
He stood. Then smiled a little, which relieved the other a little. He didn't quite know what to think of the tall black-haired American.  
  
"I'm Brad Crawford."  
  
He offered a hand.   
  
"Ken Hideaka."  
  
Ken took it, then returned the smile. He liked this man almost immediately, and felt him to be trustworthy. He ventured a question.  
  
"Been here long?"  
  
"No, not very."  
  
"Ah, I see.. My apartment just got blown to smithereens."  
  
Ken sighed a little at the memory, and Brad nodded his understanding.   
  
"I was just put here temporarily, for my protection."  
  
"Protection?"  
  
Brad grinned a little.  
  
"It's a secret."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Hey, why don't you come and stay in my space until they get around to supplying you. I managed to filch a three-person one, and its pretty comfortable."  
  
Ken was a bit unprepared for that invitation, especially since the two were still practically strangers. But it was tempting, and he'd like to talk more with Brad, who seemed like such a cool person.   
  
"Sure."  
  
Brad smiled, and started off through the long room, turning off at one of the few forks in the structure. It was a good 5 minute walk from Ken's assigned space, but it was worth it in the end. Brad had put up sheets over a framework of fitted metal rods, to serve as temporary walls like so many other people had done. Inside he had a comfortable-looking mattress, and a table, along with several cushions strewn around.   
  
"Welcome to my humble abode."  
  
He smiled, and gave Ken a little wink. Ken looked around, and smiled a little himself.  
  
~*~  
  
He snapped out of it as he noticed Brad looking at him, with amusement in his eyes.   
  
"What?"  
  
Brad leaned towards him a little, with his elbows on the table.   
  
"I just find it funny that you haven't questioned me at all since I've showed up."  
  
Ken was suprised at this himself, as soon as he realized it, and frowned. So much he didn't understand had gone on the night before, and he suddenly did want answers. Questions whirled frenzied in his head, and gave him the beginnings of a headache as he tried to sort out what he really wanted to ask. He was saved by Brad's interjection.  
  
"It's all right. Let me start by explaining myself. Yesterday would seem very dream-like to you now, and perhaps even then. Schuldig is a telepath, a mind-reader. He also has the power to control the thoughts of others. Which is why you probably found yourself going along with things even though not much was explined to you."  
  
Ken nodded a little. It did make a lot of sense. How his thought were sharply pulled away from clarity whenever they started to get restless and demand answers.   
  
"Schuldig is part of a anarchist group I joined with. They named themselves Schwarz and are trying to bring down the government, and then put an end to the world as we know it. They all have some kind of power, and that is why I was accepted so quickly. You know what my power is.."  
  
Ken nodded again, and his fingers went to the pearls at his neck, playing with the smooth gems unconsciously. Brad noticed.  
  
"Ah, that.. When we first split away from each other, I was seriously in need of money. I was also in hiding from the government, and my alias had no real credentals for any kind of high-paying line of work. So I became a jewel theif. Randal White, you might have even heard of me."  
  
A little gasp from Ken.   
  
"Randal White? You were all over the news for years..God, I never imagined..But wasn't he caught?"  
  
Brad smirked a little, as if pleased with his own genius.  
  
"Yes, he was."  
  
Realization dawned on Ken, along with mixed sympathy for the victim Brad must have framed. He noticed this in Ken's eyes.  
  
"Don't worry about him. He probably deserved to be caught even more then me. We were competitors in the market, after all. I only made papers because I was obvious, I didn't care about the publicity. He worked in secret circles, much more dangerous. Stealing from those who couldn't report to the authorities anyways. Hunting the darkness, but not particularily for the sake of light."  
  
Brad shrugged, and Ken's conscience seemed to relax a little.  
  
"I see...So you got enough money, then hooked on to an activist orginization, and then found me."  
  
"Activist.." A little smile. "Just be careful around them. Schu will use you without batting an eyelash, and Francine is just evil. Nagi is young, but don't let that fool you. He is as ambitious as the rest of us."  
  
Francine must have been the woman in black on the dock that night, but the name Nagi wasn't ringing any bells.  
  
"Nagi?"   
  
"He's a telekinetic. Still in high school. You'll meet him back at headquarters."  
  
"Back at.."  
  
Brad nodded.   
  
"You are still planning to follow through with this aren't you?"  
  
His eyes were dark an intense behind thin silver-rimmed glasses. Ken found his own brown eyes caught, even though he tried to look down.  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
*** 


	3. The Third Stage

"White. You have a visitor."  
  
The wall of the cell were a disgustingly boring off-white color, with a double bunk bed, and a toilet. The only distinct thing about the room were the chess pieces scattered all over the bottom bunk, and in the center of the floor, a small square, with 64 smaller squares scratched into the smooth concrete.  
  
On the top bunk, someone sat up, and opened his eyes, glaring at the warden. They were large and blue, making him seem a lot younger than he was. His brown hair had grown out to his shoulders, unbrushed and messy. He jumped down from the top bunk, and landed in a graceful crouch on the ground below. The he stood, and waited for the warden to unlock the barred door to the cell.  
  
He was eventually led to the visitor area, and the warden stopped to talk with another prison guard. The prisoner walked over and surveyed the lined up consoles skeptically. There he was. A red haired man was sitting behind one of the glass panes, tapping his fingers restlessly on the table. He approached it, and sat down. The red-haired man looked up, and picked up the little communication phones. The younger man picked up his end.  
  
"Aya, thank god."  
  
Aya looked at him, and he could tell he was struggling to keep his usually cool exterior, and to keep the pity out of his eyes. The younger man was fully aware of how bad he looked. He had a black eye, and bruises other places too. He was unkempt, and had been having trouble concentrating on anything. Even know his hands were shaking a little as he held the phone.  
  
"Are you all right, Omi?"  
  
"Y-yeah. But I can't stay here… you have to set something up. Really soon… these people are disgusting."  
  
Aya nodded silently, then just looked at Omi for a while.  
  
"Do you have an idea?"  
  
Omi nodded.  
  
"The guards here are damn lazy… they're even supposed to monitor these visits, and never do. The locks are nothing. Here… give me your kit when I finish explaining. There are only two locks we have to deal with, this one and that one there."  
  
He pointed to the door that separated the main room from the visitor's room.  
  
"Of course, the outside is heavily guarded, but we shouldn't make an obvious getaway. I need you to think of something, I never see the front entrance."  
  
Aya nodded, then glanced around causally, pulling out a fountain pen from his pocket, and placing it in the tray that was cut into the desk under the glass partition. Omi took it and winked, smiling kind of weakly though it had an echo of his usual confidence. He stood.  
  
"At exactly 5:38 pm I'll be outside of that door. Meet me, and I'll go along with your plan, whatever it is."  
  
They exchanged a final look, and then Aya hung up the phone, stood, and walked out. Omi could feel him taking in every detail, noting the people. Omi hung up too, and a few seconds later his warden appeared. It was only 11:00 am when he got back to his room. He was a little nervous, but he had put up with much worse than this. He sat down on one side of his chessboard that he had scratched into the floor and just looked at the squares a little longingly. He hadn't played a good game in the two months he'd been here.  
  
He pulled the pen from his pocket and unscrewed the back. The inside springs were specially designed with enough room for the four wires that were hidden inside. Lock-picking and stealth were what Omi was infamous for. He estimated 7 seconds on the first lock, and maybe 10 on the second.  
  
He frowned and carefullty replaced the wires. This was a precarious plan, but he had pulled off much much worse. This was only a silly little state jail. Nothing that could stand up to him or Aya. Especially not working together. This caused him to smile a little, in the disarming way that pulled him out of so many situations. No one believed that such a cute young man could be capable of what he did. Ah well, their mistake. He leaned back against the bottom bunk and looked up at the ceiling again. Waiting.  
  
*  
  
They were running. Omi's bare feet were silent on the ground, though the rough pavement hurt as he ran. He threw a look over his shoulder back at the prison yard. The whole escape had been carried out based on immaculate, rather precarious timing. Aya was quite an expert at calculating situations and figuring out the technical aspects of things. While he also possessed complex strategy-planning skills, he usually left the scheming to his chess-prodigy partner Omi.  
  
The idea he had settled on in the few hours he had had to derive an escape plan was direct and simple. He left to get wire cutters. There were only 5 armed guards on the fence, and they weren't stationary all the time. Every few minutes they would switch posts. It was a simple matter of timing it so that he could work without them noticing him. He had cut a decently sized semi-circle carefully into the fence, and left it looking untouched. Then he had parked a car near it, and walked away for another few hours, waiting. He had hidden guns and short throwing knives in case anything went wrong and they had to break out with violence. Either way this was the last time either of them would see the inside of a prison.  
  
Once in a lifetime mistake. That's what Omi was thinking. his throughts running parellel to the red haired man as he skidded to a halt in front of the sleek black car that Aya owned. Tinted windows, automatic everything, black leather upholstery. He pulled open a back door, and slid into the backseat, catching his breath quietly as the engine revved. They had maybe an hour, at the most two, before Omi's disappearance got out. They would be gone by then, back into the network of shadows they lived in, safe in the darkness.  
  
*  
  
Officer Kudou sighed in frustration and took off his green-tinted sunglasses, dropping them on his desk, and unpropping his feet from the latter. He glared at the offending coworker from beneath the wide brim of a black cowboy hat. He wore it along with his black standard police uniform occasionally. Mostly when he was sick of the traditional hat all policemen wore. It didn't seem to compliment his style to the extent he desired…  
  
"Oi, this better be important. I was in the middle of a pretty nice nap."  
  
He thought vaguely that he should find somewhere else to nap during his afternoon break. It seemed he as always being interrupted here.  
  
"Kudou, "White" escaped from prison a few hours ago."  
  
Youji sat up straight in his chair and picked up his sunglasses, his expression changing from good-naturedly annoyed to serious.  
  
"A few hours ago? Shit…"  
  
He stood up, putting his sunglasses on, and taking his cowboy hat off. Then he walked around his desk to stand facing his visitor.  
  
"If I had known sooner… did anyone catch any kind of lead as to where they'll head?"  
  
The older officer shook his head.  
  
Youji's eyes narrowed and he walked out into the hallway. He had been on this case for too long. A whole network of organized crime spanned the city, in a dark delicate secret web. He had been slowly, methodically trying to expose it to the light.  
  
It had all started to fall into place with the capture of Randall White. Or that's what he had thought until he saw him. Randall had a 6 inch thick pile of coverage on him lying in any given newsroom. He was showy, treating the crimes as a game, reveling in tricks and misleading false evidence. He was exceedingly clever, though, something that always seemed off to Youji. Why would someone with intellect play such a dangerous game? Some how all the attention seemed a farce, not done just for the pleasure of it. A means to an end…  
  
And then when he was finally caught, Youji had been there, along with maybe 9 other cops. Something about the whole situation seemed too picture-perfect. Too Hollywood-ending. And then there was the truth in "White"'s eyes. He had told Youji that he wasn't innocent. But he told him that if he were going to prosecute him, at least accuse him of his crimes, and not someone else's. After this confession the only thing thety would get out of him was the repeated statement that he was not Randall White.  
  
Jewel thieves. Youji sighed and leaned against the wall on the outside of the building. He tried to smooth over his anger and frustration as he lit a cigarette and worked on plastering his usual lazy, easy going smile on his face.  
  
He caught a glimpse of black heels, pausing on the sidewalk in front of him. Hm, nice legs.  
  
"Manx."  
  
He looked up, saw that he was right. He forced his thoughts away from the serious matter of work. Hey, why think about that when there are pretty women around?  
  
Manx was wearing her usual slightly sadistic smile, glossed over with light red lipstick and perfectly managed red hair, without a strand out of place. Her hands were on her hips, and she was wearing her usual dark, over-exposing business dress suit. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, and it bounced up again, like a giant hairspray-caked spring.  
  
"So I see you live up to your reputation once again, Kudou."  
  
He smirked. She was referring to his claim that he could identify women by only seeing their legs.  
  
"Of course. You should trust me on that by now. How about dinner tonight?"  
  
She laughed, and brushed him off.  
  
"You should have plenty to keep you busy tonight without making passes at me over dinner. I'm expecting you to crack the White case."  
  
She turned and walked inside. Youji grimaced. So what if she was the Chief of Police here? They had known each other for something like 4 years, and she had never spared a shred of human decency for him. A real animal that one. He shook his head. Maybe he would go home early today. He needed time to think, to research perhaps.  
  
A sudden resolute settled into him. He would find the truth if it took burying himself in their world, even if it took being lost in it. It was more than his duty now; he had become personally involved as well. He wanted to know. He turned around and walked back into the building, putting his cigarette in an ashtray before entering the double glass doors. 


	4. The Fourth Stage

AN: ^_^ Lookie! Two chapters in one day! Wow, arent you proud of me? lol, kidding. Anyways, here is the fourth chapter. Nagi makes an appearance! This chapter may be a little short, but oh well ^^;   
  
Omi was passed out on the bed. Exausted from the tension he had been carrying for months in prision, the relief of freedom seeping back into him, the feel of a real mattress too alluring to ignore. Aya smiled at him just a little as he slept. So innocent looking. He wondered how many of those men in prision had tried to rape him. Then he wondered if any of them ended up dead for it. It wouldnt have surprised him. The bruises on his young partner's body conserned him, though. He wondered if those months in confinement had changed Omi. Aya shook his head to clear it of the thought. No, Omi was not the type easily broken.   
  
His thoughts then turned to Brad Crawford. Alias Randall White. His violet eyes narrowed. Crawford's motives had been, and were in some cases, completely obscure. Aya could find no real motivation behind the style in which he was pulling off the crimes. The two had spoken very briefly on several occasions. Crawford's personality did in no way match his record. He was proffessional, conscise and impersonal. Very cool on all counts. Randall was always showy, sadistic, a little perverted, and always the trickster. Arrogantly leaving clues, jaunting messages scrawled across walls, and nasty rigged surprises for the various teams of detectives who came and went on this case. No one liked him.   
  
But he was smart, calculating. He was never, never caught on a security camera. Never seen. Aya thought this was a little strange, or maybe just lucky... Until they caught Omi. Crawford had rigged a job. Gotten inside Aya and Omi's connections and pulled some strings. Then he told the cops, and sat in with them to make sure they got the job done. He was a theif himself, so he knew the tricks that no cop would have, and made sure he cut off all of Omi's escape routes, and didn't underestimate him, bringing in enough artillery to make sure he couldnt fight his way out. It was dirty. And now he was off the hook, no one would suspect him. Tsk.  
  
Aya stood from the chair he had been sitting in, and stretched. He looked again at Omi, still sleeping like a log. Then he decided to go out and buy some groceries. The two of them would take a break from the cycle for a while and live normally until Omi fully recovered, and got restless again, as he did after too long a break from criminal behavior. He closed the door behind him quietly.  
  
***  
  
Ken awoke on the cool marble floor, from the warm sun falling across him. The first thing he saw was floor-to ceiling red velvet drapes. Familiar. He remembered this place, through the haze of his memory of the past few days. It came sharply into detail, and he picked up his head, sandy brown hair catching the light to turn into liquid gold. The hall had a high ceiling, arching gracefully two stories above the smooth black marble floors. The windows were long and recuangluar, the long drapes pulled over them casting most of the room in dimness. However the curtains over the window nearest to him had been thrown apart, angling too-bright sunlight on the ground around Ken. He blinked through it to the hall, sensing that he was not alone.   
  
He had sensed correctly. A boy stood calmly regarding him, from the other side of the room, dressed in a navy school uniform, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. His hair was shortish, dark brown, and neatly brushed. He looked very fragile standing there, somehow. Ken sat up, and they looked at each other for a while. Ken was about to ask why he had been sleeping here, but then remembered. Clear memories, something he was grateful for. The hazy moments after awakening had too much of the same unnerving qualities of the day he had spent yesterday. Brad had left him here to take care of something, alone. It had taken too long, and last night Ken had been sleepless. So he had taken a nap. He was glad he woke up unharmed, this place had proved unpredictable before.  
  
"Hello.."  
  
He ventured. In a ungaurded way, though his instincts told him that this was, perhaps, not the appropriate tone. There was no immediate response from the boy. Must be Nagi. The way he held himself suggested that he felt superior to Ken. Yet so young... Brad had said he was still in highschool. It made sense. So he asked.  
  
"Are you Nagi?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
A cool reply. Ken stood, and walked over, extending a hand.  
  
"Nice to meet you. I'm Ken Hideaka."  
  
Nagi ignored the extended hand. He didn't like unnessessary contact with people. It made him nervous.  
  
"Nice to meet you."  
  
Nagi allowed a slight formality, though questions were bubbling up in his mind. What excatly was Brad thinking? Ken. Truthfully he was expecting something more. This man, standing in front of him...seemed so naieve. Trusting, like he had never been hurt. Nagi narrowed his eyes just a little. He had noticed the pearls.  
  
"Why are you wearing those?"  
  
One of Ken's hands went a little self-consciously to his neck, where the opulent strand of pearls lay.  
  
"I know it's kind of weird..Brad gave them to me to hold for him."  
  
"It's not "weird." But it is dangerous. You don't even know what they are do you?"  
  
"Oh..yeah, I know. Pearls. They were probably stolen, right?"  
  
Tsk. So he didn't know.  
  
"Yes and no. You don't seem too trustworthy to me, I don't see why Brad let you wear them."  
  
Slight confusion, and a little offense flickered across Ken's features. Then he shrugged and put his hands in the pockets of the dark green sweater he was still wearing.   
  
"Hn. Anyways, I was sent in here to get you. We're ready to meet, follow me."  
  
He started to walk, past Ken, to the arced mahogany double doors on the opposite side of the room. He only got halfway there.   
  
"Nagi, wait.."  
  
The younger boy's footsteps paused.  
  
"You're so young..why are you involved in all this? This anarchist group..."  
  
A direct question. And personal at that. Nagi would have been slightly impressed with the forwardness, if it had been in his nature. He turned back around, his eyes holding an unreadable emotion, his face as serious and expressionless as it had been the entire time they had been talking.  
  
"A debt."  
  
"What?"  
  
"To Crawford. It's none of your buisness."  
  
Ken blinked, the second question dying on his lips. It was true, who was he to pry? He simply watched as Nagi turned on his heels and walked out of the room. Then he followed.  
  
The rest of the house he was sure he had seen, but did not remember. It was nice, though a bit eerie. Everything either had a feeling of great age or was extremely modern. A laptop sitting on top of an 18th century writing desk. Very anachronistic. Even the outside architecture, as Ken had observed upon pulling up, strands of white christmas lights strung out between classic pillars and balconies. Hw wondered whose idea it had been, or how they came across this house, whenever they had chosen it for their headquarters. At least it was painfully excluded, and removed from the near traffic-less highway. It might have been some secluded summer home for a vacationing millionaire.   
  
Brad was sitting on a large black armchair, looking comfortable, but sitting with immaculate posture. Francine was sitting on the floor near his feet, cutting something into small pieces with a knife. Ken couldn't make out what it was, and didn't think he wanted to. There might have been red stains on her fingers, but he pulled his eyes away before the thought could register as true. Schuldich was perched on the arm of a couch, the kind of really nice furnature that one would never think of sitting on improperly. But the man defied the norm in other ways as well, he wasn't surprised at his choice of situation. Nagi was standing with his back to Ken as he entered, and facing the other three people in the room. No one was saying anything, and he immediately felt uncomfortable. Out of place.  
  
Then Brad stood up, smiling a little, and walked over. Some of the tension seeped from Ken, Brad's presence reassured him a little. After all, he wasn't just being used by these people, he was... In agreement? The thought had never occured to him before. That he was on their side. But was he really? It was something he had sworn to himself, a hot-tempered youth, dreaming up revenge. Now that the dream had become solid reality, and he was older, in posession of a more rational mind, what was he relly going to do? The question was too heavy, he decided to put it aside and let it turn itself over somewhere in his subconscious.   
  
"Sorry I took so long, we had to discuss you. Your presence would have made the situation awkward."  
  
A small smirk from Brad. Ken sweatdropped just a little. Well, at least Brad was honest.. he had assumed that was what went down, but hadn't expect to be informed of it so casually.  
  
"And?"  
  
The question was a little tenative. His fate wasn't really hung on what these people thought, but...  
  
"Well, it was inconclusive. Sit down somewhere, don't look so nervous."  
  
Again, there was concealed humor in his voice and expression. As if sharing a private joke with Ken. Ken was watching the expressions of the other three in the room, and from the extent that they were pretending this was not unusual, he could tell that Brad acted differently around him. And knew that his teammates were put off by it. Of course, it amused him to no end. He sat back down in the black armchair. Ken looked around, then decided to sit on the couch, the opposite end from where Schuldich was lounged. He ws still suspicious of the german, who seemed through that lazy smirk to be calculating ways to screw him over. Which he undoubtedly was.  
  
Schuldich laughed. Ken threw a glance at him.  
  
"It's funny... Your thoughts on us."  
  
His head tilted to one side, green eyes locked on Ken, orange hair falling over one shoulder.  
  
"Perhaps it is less amusing the other way around."  
  
"Hey, could you stay out of my mind?"  
  
Schuldich smirked in reply, and Francine, from where she was sitting, giggled a little, leaning her head on Crawford's knee and looking towards Ken with her one golden eye.  
  
Ken looked to Brad for help, and Crawford, in turn, gave Schuldich a hard look. The telepath winced and put a hand to his head.  
  
"Ja, ja. I get it. Fine."  
  
Ken looked relieved as he felt the ghost of Schuldich's presence dissappeared from his thoughts.  
  
"Now.."  
  
Brad was speaking, and everyone just naturally gave him their attention. He was the kind of person who could demand attention easily.  
  
"This isn't a social gathering. We have a lot of buisness to discuss. And Ken, you've been kept in the dark for too long."  
  
A slight pause, in which Ken had the chance to look relieved.  
  
"However.."  
  
Ken's expression faultered. Damn he wished Brad wouldn't do that.. Brad looked at Ken.  
  
"You must decide if you are going to accept our offer to join Schwarz. Understand that this is binding. We are functioning secretly, and everyone here is under a vow of silence. Our goal is to destroy the current government, and throw the country into temporary anarchy. The system has become so corrupted that the downward spiral will take us all with it, and probably lead to a second civil war. Which no one wants. I have constructed a plan whose foolproofness I would stake my life on. Ken Hideka, make a descision."  
  
Ken hesitated. Then answered, clearly.  
  
"Yes. I'll join you."  
  
AN: Please tell me what you think minna! ^_^ Theres going to be another flashback in the next chapter, should be up before too long ^^ 


	5. The Fifth Stage

AN: All my experience with the army I gained through watching "Hair, the musical" about 37 times. This information is probably very wrong, and very unrealistic. oh well, deal with it or don't ^^  
  
Chapter 5.  
  
7 Years Earlier.  
  
The air was dusty and grey, in the early evening dusk. A weak sunset painted the space between the wreckage and skeletons of buildings. Ken was walking with his hands in his pockets. Thinking, amid the broken, silent chaos of the last battle scene. Both sides had pulled back, and the site had been evacuated months ago, taken over by his side and temporarily forgotten as the line was pushed over. It was eerily deserted, the whole place gave Ken a distinct feeling of being out-of-place. But no one told him it was off-limits, and everyone had the afternoon off, which all of the soldiers did about once every month.  
  
It was a good 30 minute walk from the army base he had been restationed by. It was far from pleasant, as probably most army bases are. An atmosphere of grey. The grey of steel, the grey of morning. The grey of despair and death, like the way the sky was most of the time here. He looked up at the sky. Faint traces of red and orange were quickly dissappearing with the sun. Ken was dressed in a black tshirt, and camoflauge pants. He didn't really like camoflauge. But he didnt have anything else, really.   
  
Usually he spent these afternoons off with Brad. The two of them had become good friends over the last few months. They looked after each other. But, lately Brad had become more and more secretive. There was something big he was hiding. He had been called off-duty much more often, unpredictably, to dissappear for hours, no one seemed to know where. Least of all Ken, whose inquiries were always ignored or dismissed. It was beginning to be somewhat of a rift between them. He was worried. When Brad came back he always had to take the rest of the day off, and was allowed to do so, being mentally tired, and irritable as all hell.  
  
It was the reason Ken was here alone. Brad was off doing some unexplained work somewhere, and he was left to himself. Solitude was highly overrated. Sure it was peaceful, it gave him time to think. But he liked to be around people. He liked the reassurance of being in a group, or at least near one. In case. Even in battle, it helped his morale. He started to walk back towards the base. It was late, and there would be a headcount before curfew.   
  
Brad had returned by the time Ken got back, and was lying down on the uncomfortable standard-issue cot-like beds that lined the walls of the room that them and about 12 other men shared. The two were alone in the room, it was still about an hour before it was required for everyone to check back in, and fall back into normal, relentless routine. Brad sat down on the precisely made bed across from his, not caring that it wasn't his, causing the springs to creak a little. Brad opened his eyes.  
  
After a moment, Ken spoke.  
  
"Did I wake you up? Sorry."  
  
"Mm."  
  
He closed his eyes again. Ken knew he should leave him alone. But...  
  
"Brad..."  
  
"What?"  
  
The response was toneless, and Brad's eyes were still closed.  
  
"Anou...I'm worried about you. When you come back from this shit, whatever it is, you always seem so.."  
  
Brad sat up, cutting him off with a look, and picked up his glasses from the little metal folding table that lie between every other bed. He put them on, and looked directly at Ken, the serious expression he wore making Ken feel cold inside.  
  
"Look, its not something I can take lightly enough to just tell you. If it was, I obviously would have told you already. Leave me alone about it."  
  
Ken looked truly hurt for a few seconds, and then anger took it's place, seeming a natural substitute. More of a mature emotion, or thats what it seemed to Ken. He narrowed his eyes a little.  
  
"I just.."  
  
There was a tension in Ken's voice, that was hardly ever there when he talked to the older American. Brad leaned back against the wall, pulling his eyes away from Ken and letting them rest on the place where the ceiling merged into the cream colored wall on the opposite side of the room.  
  
"Don't. It would be selfish of me if I told you. It would put you in danger..."  
  
"No, its not telling me thats selfish. You just don't want to worry. Fine. I don't want to know."  
  
He bit back the urge to tack some derrogative word onto the end of that last phrase, and instead stood up and walked out, stiffly. Brad watched him, with a sort of slightly sad calm. It was the first fight they had ever gotten into, but he felt he was doing the right thing. After a while he decided to stop thinking about it so much and resume his nap, ignoring the guilt that Ken's heated words stirred in him.  
  
One week later.  
  
Ken winced and dove for cover as an aerial bomb dropped, about 15 feet from where he was standing, throwing up dirt and little peices of concrete. He rolled smoothly back onto his feet, under a broken slab of concrete balanced about 5 feet from the ground, suspended amid rubble. This was a more dangerous situation then he had been in thusfar, and though it wasn't the front lines, where most of the casualties appeared, guerrilla work was just as perilous, for the lack of boundaries. There wasn't a line drwn across the middle of this concrete jungle, his job here was to pick off stragglers from the other side, and avoid getting blown to small pieces by the bombers, who were continuing to level everything still managing to stand upright.  
  
And nothing much was, really. It was a little overcast, the bright midday sun having passed behind a large cloud cluster. Disconsernable masses of twsted metal supports rose into the sky occasionally, and glass and conceret littered the ground. There was an occasional car, peeking out form the debris, but it was a rare sight. The rest of the troops were further ahead, a few were randomly seleced to backtrack and make sure they hadn't missed anyone. Ken had found two of Persia's, and shot them. His hands still tingled from the backlash of the rifle and the numb feeling that killing always carried for him. He placed the gun on the ground for a moment, long enough to readjust the red bandanna that was tied around one his left upper arm. Red, Takatori's color. Persia's supporters wore white, and they occasionally were called the Whites.  
  
"Hidaka, come in."  
  
The staticky buzz of his communicator flickered to life with this message. He pressed the talk button and responded in the affirmative.  
  
"We're regrouping, get back to the front."  
  
"Hai."  
  
The radio went silent. He scanned the area again, then picked up the gun, starting to jog back to where the rest of the small patrol he was with were stationed, keeping a constant eye on the skies. However, after that last spree of bombs which almost caught him, it seemed to be quiet again. A gunshot, very close to him. He whipped around to catch a figure retreat into shadow behind another building. He looked ahead, and hesitated to disobey the order, but ran after the retreating man anyways. It would be worse if there was trouble later over this. He staked out a good place to shoot from, behind a wall, about 4 feet in height. He placed the barrel of the gun on the wall to steady it, and fired three or four shots at the place that the enemy had dissappeared to.   
  
The figure ran for a second cover, while shooting at Ken to cover the move. He ducked behind the wall, and avoided the shots neatly. Then he ran after the man, the afternoon sun finally emerging from the cloud it was behind, and making the stacks of whitle concrete dazzlingly bright, and hard to focus on. He found another cover, and looked for the offender. Silence. He waited.  
  
After about 5 minutes, and no traces whatsoever of the other person, Ken gave up, and decided to check back with the rest of the troops, and the leutenient that was stationed with them. Something would be contrived to handle the situation. He started to walk back, quickly and trying to be silent, and as inconspicuous as possible, so as to avoid being trailed. A few minutes away from the post, he heard the crunch of a footstep behind him, and he turned, alarmed. Damn. He hadn't heard anyone follow him...He raised his gun and squinted against the sunlight...  
  
A searing pain ripped through the muscles in his right arm, and he yelled out a little, stubling back, and trying to catch his balance. He simultaneously saw the gunner aim for a second shot, and felt a loose peice of gravel beneath him give way. A shot rang out.   
  
Strong hands grabbed his good arm, and hauled him to his feet. The man who was shooting at him slumped to the ground, surprise still etched into his features. Ken turned around, and sighed in relief as he saw Brad's familiar face looking down at him in concern. In that moment any anger he might have harbored for the American simply melted. He had saved his life. But, Ken's words of gratitude were cut off by the look that had passed over Brad's features. Dark, worried, serious and maybe a little afraid. He was unfocused for a few moments, then he seemed to snap out of it, looked at Ken, his eyes clear and troubled.  
  
"...Run."  
  
He grabbed Ken's arm again and broke into a run. Ken stumbled after him, confused but unquestioning. The look scared him. He had only seen Brad like that a few times, and it was always a matter of life and death. A few moments after they started to run, Ken heard he planes. He didn't look up, because the ground was so uneven, but her heard them distinctly, roaring overhead. A high, keening whistle of a falling bomb. Then a deafening silence, followed by a wave of heat that threw him off of his feet. The worlds seemed to slow, the ground coming up to meet him with painful clarity. It was shattered by the loud explosion that followed, and Ken skidded and rolled about 10 feet on the loose chunks of gravel.   
  
The arm he had been shot in sent needles of firey pain through his body, and he closed his eyes tightly, curling in on himself, fighting the sting of multiple scrapes that were slowly making themselves known to him. He cried out a little as he was shook.  
  
"Ken.. Ken, are you all right?"  
  
He peeled his eyelids open, and squinted up at the older, dark-haired man, propping himself up painfully on one elbow. Then closed them again as Brad's arms encircled him, in relief of his being all right, or just a sort of protective instinct. Brad sighed.  
  
"D-damn...That was really close."  
  
Ken's voice cracked a little, his heart was still pounding. He looked back, then, towards the place that they had come from, towards the place where the rest of the troops were camped out....And his eyes widened in shock. Fires were burning here and there. Everything was blackened. Completely obliterated, for about a 40 foot radius.   
  
"The troops...."  
  
Mental pain was surfacing now. It was the first personal loss Ken had suffered since he had been here. He felt numb again, through the pain of his injuries.  
  
"They didn't make it. I saw it coming too late..."  
  
"You saw it?"  
  
Silence. Ken glanced at him, concern in his brown eyes. Brad was just looking at the scorched earth and dust, with an expression was unreadable. When he felt Ken's eyes on him, he clamped a mask of impassiveness over whatever had been there before, and looked at him.   
  
"You're shot.."  
  
Ken's voice had an edge of desperation. His need to know was more then the pain. The bullet had gone through cleanly, and the bleeding had stopped already. He didn't even think that any bones were broken, and that was a surprsing streak of luck. So for now, he needed an answer.  
  
"I'll be fine, its not bad. Brad...how did you know?"  
  
Brad dropped his arms from Ken and leaned back on his hands, looking down. His glasses had gone missing, most likely having fallen off or broken in the explosion. His hair had grown out since he had first met Ken: It had been cut short for the military, but now his bangs were almost long enough to fall into his eyes, though it was still sort of short in the back. He was surprisingly untouched, though a little scratched in a few places. Not bleeding too much. His voice was even when he finally spoke.  
  
"I have precognition."  
  
Ken's eyes widened in surprise. It was truly an answer he wasn't expecting. Insane, but strangely logical. Things he hadn't understood clicked into place like smooth machinery. It was a useful tool in a war, being able to see the future. And Brad's gut feelings about things did have an uncanny way of always being right...  
  
"....I see."  
  
Brad hung his head just a little. He was distressed, and Ken could detect it, flaws in his facade of emotionlessness showing through. His lips were pressed together a little, and there were slight creases on his forehead, just short of deeping into a frown. It was of course to be expected. Ken could almost feel his guilt over the deaths of their commrades.  
  
"Those trips...Takatori has been trying to train me. Its not as useful as you might think, I can't control it. I occasionally have visions, and I wont know how soon in the future they are going to occur. Often they're completely useless. Sometimes they are enough to save a life."  
  
Ken nodded. Brad rubbed the place on the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat, distractedly. He had generally bad vision, being farsighted. Ken noticed. He had always wondered how Brad was drafted without 20-20 vision. Maybe he had memorized the chart or something...it would be like him.   
  
His thoughts were pulled away from that as the older man stood, looking down at him.  
  
"Can you walk all right? We need to get back to the base and report this."  
  
Ken nodded, and stood, the sun passing behind another cloud, leaving everything in dim uncertainty once again.  
  
*  
  
The Present.  
  
Work. Damn. Ken glowered at the sidewalk as he walked, just putting one foot in front of the other. Work was not what he wanted to be occupying his thoughts right now, having so much to work out, that was of far more importance. However, Brad has insisted that he tie up all loose ends. He was always a believer in prescision, and Ken admitted (though a little grudgingly) that he agreed.   
  
Ken worked these days at an obscure law firm, filling out monotonous paperwork, typing reports. Nothing special, nothing challenging. Enough of a paycheck to pay his rent and eat well. The building was squat, a dark brown, and practically windowless. Ugly to say the least. The walls and hallways were all done in shades of unobtrusive beige. Glass doors opened onto the interior. The whole place was just a little cramped. Ken stood before the glass doors, studying his reflection in the glass. A casual suit, dark brown slacks that reminded him a little too much of the color of this building, a white button-doen shirt with a black sportscoat over it, and a wheat-colored tie. He was still wearing the srtand of pearls, but it was hidden neatly by the collar of the shirt. It wasn't so bad, the buisnessman look, but it always thought it made him look a little older then he really felt. He was only 28 after all. His hair was combed neatly, though he always avoided gel, his hair having a tendency to fall into place nicely on its own.  
  
He squared his shoulders and walked inside. He wouldn't be staying long, he was going to quit, quietly and without raising too much attention to it. Personal reasons he would say, as explaination. And that should be enough for them. He felt a bit elated over all of this, after the inital shock reaction was wearing off. His life was serving a higher purpose again. This was the kind of stuff he used to thrive off of, when he was younger, and didn't know that there was no 'glory' or 'grandeur' in the cold truth of war.  
  
Perhaps it would be too late when he learned the same of revenge.  
  
But this was not on his mind. He walked in, on time, checked into the office of his supervisor, apologized for the few days he had been absent, and then resigned his position.   
  
About an hour later, he re-emerged, after filling out a slew of release forms, a free man. It did feel good. He had hated that job for as long as he could remember. He had always told himself that if he ever didn't make into the National League, he would teach soccer instead. He loved children, and soccer. It would have made him happy, but he just couldn't find an opening. It wasn't a position very in-demand. He shook the sentiment off. It didn't make a difference now, anyway.  
  
He turned a corner, onto a side street he always took as a shortcut, and to avoid a major intersection, where he always got stopped at the light. And then he stopped in his tracks. A sleek black car was stretched across the alley, parked right in the middle of the road. A man wearing dark sunglasses was leaned against it, his eyes fixed on him, and another was standing by the wall, a ways away, also in dark glasses, and a hat. The car windows were tinted, there might have been two others, but it also might be Ken seeing the worse scenario. Both men were looking at him. He backed up a few steps, silent, wary.   
  
Then the taller of the two, formerly leaning on the car, started to walk towards him. When he started backing up, he stopped, and threw a glance with some encrypted meaning to the younger of the two, and he reached in his coat for something. They were both in black. Ken didn't stick around to see what kind of weapon the younger one was about to aim at him, and he turned and broke into the run. The last thing he saw was the pavement coming up to meet him, a sting, like a wasp's, in the back of his neck. He instinctively reached back, as he hit the ground, seeing nothing but darkness, and his fingers touched a thin length of glass and metal, with raised ridges like a throwing dart. Then, nothingness.  
  
Omi smirked.  
  
AN: I think my original style is falling apart too much so...expect something really off the wall in the next chapter! muahaha... Review pleeasseeee! ::bows to all her lovely reviewers thusfar:: You make my life worth living.. ::sniff:: 


	6. The Sixth Stage

AN: Well, I thought there was too little insanity in this fic. It was all starting to make sense. Therefore, the second scene. Please don't kill me.  
  
Also, this is a rather R rated chapter, I'm not sure what I put as the rating for this fic.  
  
~ ~  
  
Early evening. A red-haired man was stretched out catlike on a futon in the sparsely furnished room. A room that gave the feeling of both cleansliness and mystery. The walls were a grey that was almost white, and there were a few chairs here and there, and the futon that Aya was lying on. Large rectangular heavy tables stretched island-like across the middle of the room, occupying about 50 percent of the floor space. Around the edges was all kinds of scienific and craftsman equipment. Microscopes, dimond cutters, third-arms, and many unidentifyable electric devices, whose black cords massed beneath the table. It was dubbed 'The Workshop.'  
  
Omi was perched in front of one of these, studying a chain of pearls. There was nothing seemingly special about these pearls. They were of medium size, and all perfectly flawless, as very expensive pearls should be. However.. Omi had, through his knowledge on these matters, noticed tht at least 3 of them were hollow. He had cut apart the string, and was inspecting the one he had under a high-power xray.   
  
"Aya-kun, it's not working."  
  
He sighed, and pushed his chair back from the table, cracking his neck a little, which had been getting increasingly stiff staring at the pearl under various microscopes and trying to determine how the inside had been carved out. It was perfectly seamless.  
  
"I figure it's some kind of microchip in there...Who knows. It isn't registering as anything specific..though it has a distinctly square shape for sure.."  
  
Aya got to his feet, and walked over. He took the pearl off the tray of the machine, and looked at it for a few seconds.   
  
"Well."  
  
Then he walked around the table and picked up two tools. One a metal tool with a flat end, like a screwdriver, and the other closely resembling a hammer. He balanced the pearl on the table, and with precision that indicated quite some practice, he placed the first tool on the top of the pearl, and hit it with the hammer. It split very neatly down the center. Omi observed passively, he knew that Aya knew what he was doing. Then aya took a pair of medical tweezers out of his pocket and picked up something very small, and silvery. He placed this on a microscope slide, and handed it to Omi.  
  
"Here. It should work now."  
  
Omi slid it under a microscope, adjusted the focus, and looked at it for a good couple of minutes.  
  
"So?"  
  
He looked up at Aya, seeming to be lost in thought.  
  
"It's definetly a computer virus. High tech as hell, it's remote-triggered, and only has to be in the vicinity of the computer system it has to wipe out. Ive only read about these. I never thought there were any actually in circulation...What's Crawford playing with?"  
  
"Hn. More then we are, obviously. We always knew he was after more then money."  
  
Omi nodded thoughtfully.   
  
"Yeah, well, its probably better off in our hands anyways. As long as it doesn't get back to us. That Hidaka guy is dead anyways, and there were no other witnesses, so it should be fine."  
  
"Mm. Don't get too comfortable."  
  
**  
  
It was midnight. The stars overhead burned with a passion that broke through the pollution of the city, that marked their dominance over the soot black sky. He stood in the middle of a plane, alone. Walls of bars, like a prision, rose up solidary, around him, and out to the distance. He could hear whispers, hinted on the wind, and ran to catch them. The space between the walls of bars widened as he ran further. He stopped to catch his breath, when he noticed blood on his hands. No..Not blood, but red stains, that wouldn't smear when he tried to rub them off on the sides of his jeans. He started to panic.  
  
"Don't worry, the dead don't really mind. It's nicer there anyways."  
  
A smooth, feminine voice, that sent a little tremor though him. It was preditorial, that tone, something to respect, or at least be wary of. He looked up. She was sitting on the ground, in a black dress whose black silk gathers spilled onto the floor around her, fully. If she had been standing it probably would have been a train. She was wearing long black evening gloves, also silk, with white bandages peeking out over the tops. Her face was as capturing as it was the first time Ken had seen her, on the water out in back of Schwarz headquarters. Scars criscrossing the pale skin, and that black eyepatch adding an air of things hidden. Her silvery-white hair was shoulder length, and she was young..couldn't have been more then 20.   
  
"Francine, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Does it matter Kenken?"  
  
A smirk on those pale lips as the nickname rolled off of them, condescending.   
  
"Come over here.."  
  
She held up her hands to him, and he walked over, slowly. He knew that he shouldn't, but he took her hands anyways, and istead of allowing him to pull her to her feet, like Ken was expecting, she pulled him down, to her level. He crouched.   
  
"Why don't you give up now? You arent going to win this battle. Just like you didn't win the war."  
  
She smiled and licked the blood off of his index finger. It was smearing now, more then just red stains, and syrupy and thick like he remembered blood being. He shivered. She kissed him. A rough kiss, both playful and passionate. And also impersonal, like she didn't particularly see him as a person. Like maybe she didn't really see him at all. He tasted the coppery blood on her lips, and found himself kissing her back, though he himself didn't quite know the reason.  
  
A tug at the strand of pearls he just remembered that he was wearing, and it broke, sending the milky orbs clattering and bouncing to the smooth floor. He broke the kiss, and looked at her, a little shocked.  
  
"Why..?"  
  
"Shh."  
  
One of the pearls bounced off of a metal bar, and rolled to a stop, in front of Ken. It was iradescent, and almost glowing if looked at from the right angle. He looked back at Francine, who was removing her gloves. The bandages were stark white, and stood out like the pearls did, strangely illuminated despite the darkness. Then she stood, and started to unbutton her dress, down the front, letting it slide down her body in a rustle of silk, completely exposing most of her pale skin, except for the lighter shades of the bandages that were wrapped around her stomach and one around her upper thigh.   
  
Ken stared. He couldn't help it. She did have a nice body. That was without the scars. With them, and there were quite a few, she was simply unique. Not repulsive, as one might think from a description, because really, beneath it she had one been exquisitely beautiful.   
  
"What..happened to you? I mean the scars..."  
  
"My religion. I did them myself. Don't you like them?"  
  
She tilted her head to one side, grinning.   
  
"Didn't it hurt?"  
  
"No. Pain is only in your mind."  
  
He thought about this, and she walked over to him, and crouched down in front of him, running her fingers through his hair, then climbing onto his lap. Ken didn't blush, but he really would have. He wasn't used to assertive women. So he was sort of shocked into submission as the layers of dark clothing he was wearing fell away. He suddenly noticed how cold he was, and wondered when the tempature had dropped. He shivered again, partly from that, and partly from the way Francine was touching him.  
  
He closed his eyes. It was rather wrong, this union, if it could be called such. Brad had told him that she was with him..But it didn't make much sense. He resented that anyways, for a strange reason. Someone else being with Brad, that is. He felt a little too possessive of the man to ever be comfortable with that. Not that he had a valid claim. He thought about this for as long as his thoughts could remain coherent, before a hot need took him, and he found himself making love to Francine, in the middle of a starry, deserted, caged lanscape. In some night that was missing from the monotonous line of other cold nights dotting his memory.   
  
*  
  
Ken opened his eyes. And then he immediately wished he hadn't. Pain flared in his head, causing him to wince. Worse then any headache he had ever had. And all his joints were stiff, as if sitting in one position for much too long. He opened his eyes again, very slowly. Stars. Muted, cold, distant stars. Cold. He remembered bright stars, a woman...Oh shit. Francine. His hands went almost instictively to his neck. The pearls were gone. He sat up a little more, and hesitantly looked through the darkness to his surroundings, half expecting cages and smooth marble floor. He breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the alley.  
  
The pearls were still gone, and his mind refused to accept this, because it couldn't really be rationalized. He would panic. And that's not what he needed...he needed to get back home. He figured Brad would be back at his apartment, inexplicably. It seemed right, logical. He remembered then, why he had ended up on the ground unconscious in the first place. Tranquilizer dart. And a very sore place on the back of his neck which he didn't even try to touch, he knew it would hurt too much. He should probably see a doctor...  
  
He rose to his feet, slowly, painfully. Driven towards safety. With a little warm light of hope inside of him, sparked by what was really a near-death experience. He was alive. He could walk back to his apartment. Brad would take care of everything else. Thats what he repeated to himself, as he simply put one foot in front of the other.  
  
*  
  
Earlier that same evening.  
  
Youji sighed, and scanned the room one more time. Damn. They always slipped through his fingers. He was standing in the middle of the last Workshop of Omi and Aya's. It was cleared out, except a few folding tables, and a lone microscope. Nothing suspicious. However, he had used his inside contacts to pinpoint this location. They were always quiet about where they stayed, and moved constantly. It was an almost impossible-to-win situation. They were so smart, and they had the edge of unpredictability. Youji found patterns, yes, but they were useless. These kinds of criminals were never tracked by the law. They had their own justice delivered to them, by the mafia circles and such. Police just didn't tangle themselves up in that.   
  
Well. Now it was nessessary. A jail break was their buisness, and he was going to catch him. And White, the real one. It would be good for his career, but that wasn't the only reason he cared. The place would be fingerprinted. They would find the young man's prints on everything. Unfortunately, he had somehow removed himself from public records. The prints didn't match any person's ever recorded onto the system. No, that would be too easy.  
  
He walked out, onto the cool streets. The evenings were more chilly these days. Winter was approaching. He rummaged in the pockets of the trenchcoat he was wearing over casual clothing, and found a cell phone. Checked the time. Only 6:30. The night was young, and he needed some companionship to take his mind off of this damn case. He scanned his mental database of women's phone numbers. Crossed off a few, he had a few arguments recently.   
  
Ah, there. A girl's face came to mind. Short blue hair, a waitress, if he could remember correctly. He met her over breakfast once, at a small diner, with sunlight streaming in the large windows. She had a pretty smile, and had given him her number. Her name had been Asuka-something. They met once after that, a short meeting over some ice cream, which unfortunately was cut short by a call to work. He had never gotten back to her, but he was the sort that people remembered. She would know him when he called, even though it had probably been a fe months. Maybe she would be free tonight...   
  
He dialed her number. It rang four times, and then she picked up.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey. Been a while, Asuka."  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"Youji Kudou. We met a while ago.."  
  
"Oh, Youji, right.."  
  
He could hear her become a little flustered on the other end of the phone line. He smiled.  
  
"Sorry for not calling, I really meant to, but...you know how it is."  
  
"Mm..so what's the occasion?"  
  
  
  
"I was going out tonight, and I don't have a date. It's just such a shame, and if you were free tonight... Well you might just be able to save me."  
  
She laughed a little, a light laughter. She did like him quite a bit, and the offer was so spontneous that it was powerfully tempting. She had an engagement tonight, but it wasn't very promising, and it wasn't every day you got called up by a guy like Youji. Such a charmer..  
  
"Well, all right. I don't have anything planned, really.."  
  
"Good! Where do you live again? I can pick you up at 7:30, if that's all right with you.."  
  
"Ah, that's fine.."  
  
He grabbed a pen and wrote the address down on the back of a recipt from somewhere, as she recited it.   
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Oh, anou.. Where are we going? So I know what to wear.."  
  
Youji hadn't really thought about it. So he paused for a few moments.  
  
"Does clubbing sound good? Its been a while since I had a really nice dance partner.."  
  
She smiled, flattered that he thought she would be a good dancer. Well, she was, but... Hm, did she even have anything to wear? She panicked.  
  
"Yeah, that would be great..7:30, right?"  
  
"Right. See you then."  
  
She said goodbye and hung up, a little rush of elation running through her. She felt light-headed as she ran into the other room to get dressed, then back a few moments later, realizing she had forgotten to call her agent back. She was an aspiring actress, working day jobs at resturants and diners, and auditioning for whatever she got a chance to in her free time. She hadn't had much luck, though she was very pretty, and more then decently talented. But that was show buisness, and she would keep trying. And tonight, she would just have fun. Without thoughts of what lie ahead of her.   
  
*  
  
6:50  
  
Youji was almost home, having taken various subways and trains back into the city. He lived by himself in a small house in a not-so-crowded suburban neighborhood. Not to say anwhere was particularily spacious, this was Japan, after all, and post-war at that. But it was relatively nice. At least it wasn't an apartment. He was traversing the dim streets when someone on the other side of the street caught his attetion as out of place. Youji was an expert when it came to suspicious characters, and this guy was obviously up to some kind of trouble.   
  
He stood across the street from the policeman, hands in his pockets, standing on the opposite sidewalk, looking openly at Youji with peircing, amused green eyes. His hair was a vibrant, tousled orange, and he was dressed smartly in a double breasted blazer and grey slacks. On a second look, his apprearance was a bit messy, though immaculately so, as if planned. A yellow bandanna was tied around his forehead, and he was wearing dark pink sunglasses on top of his head.  
  
Bingo. Schuldig smirked. He didn't know what exactly it was that Crawford had forseen when he told him to go take a walk. He must have known something along these lines. The man was an extremely interesting case study. Schuldig allowed himself to soak in the man's thoughts for a few moments. On the way to a nice date, lovely. Devoting most of his time to obsessing over the framing of that lousy kid jewel thief, and trying to find Crawford...amusing. He would play with him a little before letting him go again.  
  
AN: Wow, look at that. Straight sex. Whew, a first for me! In any fic ^.^ That's so sad. I need a life. And I also need more reviews. Thank you Misura, you're a goddess. I really appreciate that someone cares enough to follow the story chapter-by-chapter... And of course, Jimmy. But you already know that, and I force you to review, so nyah. And everyone else! Sank you. And gimme more reviews! ::makes her happy:: ^.^ Ja, I'll be working on the next chapter. 


	7. The Seventh Stage

AN: People!! Read this chapter and die. I just had nowhere to put this, me typing it on a library computer, so I uploaded it to keep it safe. Don't read it yet, tis not finished!  
  
Within a Dream:   
  
Chapter 7  
  
Ken opened the door of his apartment. It was dark, and quiet inside, all the lights being shut off, like he left them. He looked around tenatively.   
  
"Brad?"   
  
He didn't feel anyone's presence, and he walksed further into the living room. A lamp turned on, near the door, and he jumped. A lithe, short figure was standing in a doorway, with his arms crossed, looking at Ken. He looked closer, his eyes still adjusting to the light. It was Nagi.   
  
"Nagi, what are you.."  
  
He stopped himself as the boy's expression registered. Anger.  
  
"What..."  
  
"Listen. Brad dropped me off here and told me to wait for you. That the pearls would be missing. I'm not very happy about this situation. I would appreciate if you would just shut up, not ask questions, and get in the car. I'm too young to drive, or I might have done it without you."  
  
His voice was cool, tension lurking beneath the surface of those large dark eyes, but not surfacing, no. He was being surprisingly level headed about the situation, by his own estimation. In reality he wanted to kill Ken, and slap Brad for not seeing this coming. Or maybe he did. In any case, he had a superiority complex. Sometimes Nagi thought it got to his head and made his decisions a bit rash. Just because he was a lot older then the rest of them. Just because his gift was instrumental. He wasn't the only one with power. Nagi had been the organizing force behind Schwarz before he had showed up. And now he seemed to gloat over the power he had over the younger boy's actions.  
  
But all that had been tolerable. Then he brings Ken into the picture, an outsider. Ken didn't have a paticular use to them. None that he could see, at least. And entrusts him with gaurding a set of microweapons. 


End file.
